


five times patrick kissed pete, and not the other way around

by jacksmannequin



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of suicide attempt, this is a translation of a fic of mine bc i have no life, this is kinda shitty and not beta'd so yeah, without the +1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 23:29:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7128365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacksmannequin/pseuds/jacksmannequin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick never took the initiative. Never. It was always Pete who kissed him backstage after a concert, attacked him whenever he was trying to write a riff, or who invaded his personal space during a show, making him send to hell half of the song.<br/>Not the other way around.<br/>Because that's how it worked between them; Pete behaved like that with everyone, really, while... well, Patrick didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	five times patrick kissed pete, and not the other way around

**Author's Note:**

> hello there !! so long story short this is a translation of a fic of mine that's on my profile idk read that if u wanna and understand italian idk its your life  
> this is not proofread and im not a native speaker and blah blah  
> hope u enjoy !!

_One._

Patrick never took the initiative. Never. It was always Pete who kissed him backstage after a concert, attacked him whenever he was trying to write a riff, or who invaded his personal space during a show, making him send to hell half of the song.

Not the other way around.

Because that's how it worked between them; Pete behaved like that with everyone, really, while... well, Patrick didn't.

The first time Patrick kissed Pete happened in a forsaken city in North Dakota; they still were four do-nothings who performed in small bars and clubs full of weird people around the Usa, travelling on Joe's mother's broken-down van who, out of kindness – or out of pity, mostly – decided to lend it to them.

That time, Andy and Joe weren't there. Andy was who-knows-where around the city (“yes, i'm going to hang around a bit, i have a friend who moved here, don't worry, I'll be back for the concert, it's not too far away”), while Joe... was probably with Andy. As usual.

Patrick handn't even planned it in the slightest: it just sort of happened. Or, at least, that was the excuse he'd used.

Taking advantage of Joe and Andy's absence, he'd decided to relax and read a book, hoping he would have been able to rest in peace for at least a hour before going out on stage. He didn't consider Pete's presence though who, like he always did, had decided to take his book away from his hands and settle in his lap, starting to ramble about stupid things.

“Hey, 'Trick, did you know that your palms can't tan?”

“No shit.”

“It's real! I tell you, I was so disappointed, that's why they always stay white! I just had my childhood ruined, you can't understand –”

And so he was interrupted by Patrick's lips on his, something that, at least, succeeded in making him shut up.

Patrick, however, as soon as he _really_ noticed what he was doing – nothing more than two seconds – pulled away instantly, leaving Pete with his mouth half open and a stunned look on his face.

Once he got over himself he looked at him, lifting an eyebrow with a questioning look. Because, as he already knew, Patrick _never_ made the first move.

As if it explained anything, Patrick just shrugged and waved him off, adding a, “You were talking too much”, even though his face said otherwise.

_Two._

The second time, perhaps they were both a little too drunk.

Patrick was kind of a lightweight; and that was well known to everyone. He was the kind of drunk to become a comedian from Saturday Night Live, and that was also well known. What wasn't, though, was that it awoke his tendency to grope his bandmates. One in particular.

“Peeeeeeeeeeeete! Look, I can touch my elbow with my tongue,” Patrick exclaimed. He held back a hiccup at the end of the sentence and lifted his arm, trying to reach his elbow, only to find himself licking his entire forearm. No, he wasn't able to do it. And yes, he was fucked. He was young and in a band, how could you blame him?

“It's not true, look, you licked half of your arm,” Pete replied, giggling as if he had said the best joke of the century. “Look, right here.” To prove his point, he pressed a finger on Patrick's arm, using the situation to find himself face to face with him.

“Do you know another place where my saliva would be perfect?” he murmured, with a resoluteness he only had after having downed at least two beers.

“Maybe on the other arm –”

Patrick's lips met the other boy's, and Pete shut up.

_Three._

The third time it happened on a hospital bed.

Which, other than the kiss, also saw the slap that followed.

“Patrick,” Pete murmured, startled both by the desperate, long kiss, and the blow he'd received.

“Oh, no, don't even try! What the fuck were you thinking? Did you think it would solve everything? That you could leave me like that, with a fucking bottle of pills and nothing else?” Patrick yelled at him, without even doing anything to wipe off the single tear that was streaming down his face.

Pete flinched, imperceptibly, but he did. Patrick never swore. Almost.

“'Trick, I –”

“No,” he interrupted him again, trying to calm down, “don't 'Trick' me! You don't have the right to leave me alone, you can't.”

With those words, he let himself sit down on the bed where Pete, albeit with a little bit of difficulty, pulled him in his arms, holding him with the little strength he had left in his body.

“Promise me, promise you'll never do it again,” he told him, tears now streaming uncontrollably down his face.

“I promise, I swear, I'm sorry.”

And so he did.

_Four._

The fourth time, Patrick hadn't even tried to hide it from the other guys.

He acted instinctively, something that always fucked him up.

Anyway the thing is, when he saw him glued to, out of fucking everyone, William Beckett, he couldn't see straight anymore.

He was used to that kind of situation, but. The two of them weren't even together, for fuck's sake, and Patrick knew that. He didn't have the right to be jealous. He was just one of the many that Pete used to keep himself entertained, a puppet to use when he had to let go of his hormonal attacks during shows.

In that moment, though, it didn't matter. What mattered, instead, was that William Beckett had his tongue in Pete's mouth, and that Patrick, for reasons he couldn't explain, felt sick just looking at them.

For the same unexplainable reason, as soon as William ran away on TAI's tour bus, Patrick stopped Pete on his way to the bathroom, pining him against the wall.

“Hey man, what's u–”

The words he was about to say died in his – well, Patrick's, mouth, when he literally attacked the other's lips, grabbing his shoulders and forcing his tongue in his mouth.

He pulled away a minute later and he walked away leaving Pete to ask himself what exactly had just happened.

_Five._

The fifth time, it happened for no reason at all.

They were wasting time on Pete's couch in his Los Angeles place, waiting for their manager to call them to know the details about their new tour for Folie.

They both were somewhat nervous, but not about the phone call. There was something in the air, almost a premonition, that was making Pete restless. Perhaps it was Patrick, sat too close to him, legs touching. Or perhaps it was too hot. Or it was Patrick. Yeah, it was definitely Patrick.

When he lifted his eyes again to see what the other was doing, Pete found him staring at his face with a grin on his lips.

That day, they understood something important, when their lips met in a hesitant kiss.

That day, they told each other those three words the both of them had been too afraid to say out loud for nearly seven years, and then started to behave exactly like they did before, because that was how they worked.

That day, Patrick stopped counting.

 


End file.
